


Pomegranate

by orangebiscotti



Series: Inspired by the Suiko RPG [2]
Category: Suikoden, Suikoden II
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen, Introspection, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21693277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangebiscotti/pseuds/orangebiscotti
Summary: He hated everything that basket of fruit represented.
Series: Inspired by the Suiko RPG [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595614
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Pomegranate

**Author's Note:**

> Character prompt response involving the four elements and referencing a pomegranate in under 500 words. Written in the context of his role in my longer piece, because why not.

He stared at the basket of fruit sitting atop the table. Bright and cheery, a symbol of peacetime and plenty, the scent of its ripened contents wafting through the air. He scoffed. Anyone who had the time to arrange fruit in a basket for decorative pleasure was wasteful and _weak_.

He selected the topmost fruit, a ruby-red pomegranate. They were his mother’s favorite and never easy to come by. But Highland was rich in coastal trade along the waterfront, and the Queen wanted for nothing when she was alive, even if she was never one for extravagance.

He slowly brushed his thumb across its unblemished skin as his thoughts strayed back to the kingdom’s downfall and the war— _his_ war. His homeland cried out for retribution, and he answered the call with fire and death, putting to flame every village aligned with the City States. How many had died by his hand?

_Not enough._

The voice of his rune whispered to him, always eager to indulge in his unquenchable desire for blood. He welcomed its suggestions. After all, they were both in agreement.

All that mattered was strength, and those with power were meant to put the weak in their place. That's how the world was designed. And that’s why he felt no remorse in killing his own father. After all, it was the king’s pitiful weakness that lead to his mother’s dishonor at the hands of the City State pigs. They all paid with their blood.

_It will never be enough._

He hated everything that basket of fruit represented.

He hated this new place.

He hated these new faces.

He hated their smiles, their preoccupation with emotions and pursuits that did nothing but keep them wriggling in the dirt like maggots.

He hated their leader, how similar he was to the leader of the rebel faction that defied his magnificent army and eventually ruined his war.

He dropped the pomegranate to the ground and crushed his heel against the earth. The juices sprayed against his armor, glossy red on white. He chuckled to himself. The last time his armor was stained, it was with his own blood. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine it was the blood of their pitiful leader, and it was a comfort. He hated that he wasn’t allowed to _kill_ , because killing meant never getting the answers he sought.

And he needed those answers. Because how else was he going to figure out why he was alive again?


End file.
